


Forelsket

by Quilly



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, HSWC Bonus Round 2, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, ah young love, dave shut up, in which Karkat is a lovestruck goon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:36:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1848079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The euphoria someone feels the first time he or she falls in love.</p>
<p>Or, Karkat didn't know moirallegiance was going to be like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forelsket

**Author's Note:**

> Posting fills from Bonus Round 2! Whee!

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you didn’t know this about moirallegiance.  
  
Your friends are dead, you are hurtling through space at a breakneck pace, you share a meteor with _Dave Strider_ , of all half-wits, and yet you feel like you’re floating, whenever you come back from seeing your moirail. It’s unexpected. All your romcoms prepared you for was the act of shooshing and papping, maybe lending you a few classic moves. Nothing could possibly prepare you for a lapful of blissed-out purpleblood who insists that reaching up and papping you back is acceptable practice.  
  
The thing is, he’s not wrong.  
  
That you’re the stable one in the relationship is never something either of you questioned, or would ever question. You only have to pass one of Nepeta’s old chalk drawings to remind yourself of that, with a wince and more than one sharp pang of regret. However, with Gamzee’s thinkpan more or less contained and his mannerisms…if not exactly how he used to be, than close enough for you…you might feel a little lost. Not that Gamzee’s thinkpan contains itself, by any stretch, but when he’s not snarling you have a hard time figuring out what you’re supposed to be doing.  
  
The answer to that, as it turns out, is hanging on for dear life while he nuzzles your hair and works kinks out of your back you didn’t even know were there and mutters pale nothings in your ear—heavy stuff, stuff that makes you giddy with the romance of it all, about how you keep him right and he couldn’t half function without you and always, repeated like he’s afraid he’ll forget to say it, _pale for you, bro, pale for you, pale for you…_  
  
It doesn’t occur to you that you’re grinning like an idiot at nothing until Dave flicks the plastic tab of some kind of Earth liquid—some kind of lactate?—at your face and comments on it.  
  
“Yo. Nubs McGrump. What’s with the face?”  
  
You fix your features hurriedly. “This is my usual expression, you nosey bulgehump.”  
  
“No it ain’t,” Dave says, voice flat as he hoists himself onto the counter of the nutrition block. “Your usual look would scare most babies. All Reaper-like in its grimness. Give that look a sickle and a hood and it’s ready to gather the souls of the innocent in its bony grasp.” He takes an obnoxious swig of…malk, is that the word? “That’s a smile. You’re thinking about your weird creepy clown boyfriend.”  
  
You growl, throw the tab back in Dave’s face, and stalk out of the kitchen in a temper that overcomes your previous innocent joy. What business is it of Dave’s what expression you make? And why it’s there? (How’d he know, is what the back of your mind is asking, how did he know and why should he care?)  
  
You stalk around until you start hearing faint honks in the vents, and then you just sorta grin and follow the honks to your next chainsaw-free meeting place.  
  
When he cards his fingers through your hair and around your horns, it’s better than you remembered and imagined it would feel like, but only just. You have a very vivid memory of your first papping, after all.  
  
Societal convention told you that your duty is to pap and to pacify. It never prepared you for being papped back.


End file.
